


Filtered Coffee with Vanilla

by LadyPaige



Series: Whiskey in the Jar [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M, Many stories to come, series of fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPaige/pseuds/LadyPaige
Summary: The type of weariness only coffee can cure.





	Filtered Coffee with Vanilla

Chris clicked his tongue as he attempted, for the fourth time to fill in a section of his paper work. A large section. A very boring question, to which the answer was so obvious, he could not even remotely begin to ponder how to start.

His soft clicking began as a tune, but trailed off as he realised the familiarity. Changing from sequence to sequence, as he tried to mentally grab at the melody that had completely slipped from his mind.

Yeah. Gone.

“Lost your will to live, this early?” Jill said as she walked passed his desk, pile of paperwork in hand.

“Did you check behind the fridge?” Barry called, fingers curled around the mouthpiece of the phone he was lazily resting on his shoulder. Waiting for the call to go through.

Chris snapped his fingers. “The fridge!”

“It all seems so simple now,” Jill sighed, before turning her attention back to the fax machine.

“Hey,” she smiled at Barry, “If you find my trust in people, feel free to tell me.”

“Last I saw it. It was heading east, on the back of-“He held up a finger, “Hello. I called this morning.”

Jill shook her head, her lips firmly pressed together.

Chris sighed. “Now we’ll never know.”

“Go figure. Need a hand?”

“I’d love you forever.”

“Wow. You are easy,” Jill commented, watching the slip of paper slid into the machine. “No dinner. No dancing.”

“You haven’t seen me dance.”

“He’s pretty top heavy. Might fall over,” Barry added, covering the mouthpiece.

Chris held out a hand. “I’m not-ah!” he pretended to be almost topple over the desk, catching himself at the last moment, his force knocking over a photo frame, and a clear plastic box with a single pen inside.

“I see it now.”

“You know. You guys can start working, anytime,” Forest sung.

Joseph snorted at his squad mate, who was currently leaning against his desk with a cup of coffee in hand. The urge to jerk the table top was strong.

The fact that Forest liked his coffee practically still boiling was the only thought that stopped him. That, and Captain Marini was due any minuet.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris waved him off before turning his vison to Jill as she looked over his work.

He could really go for one of those milky coffees.

“What do I get for a good grade?”

“Paid.”

Chris thankfully stopped himself from jumping as Wesker spoke. Just sat up a little straighter, and really wished he had cleaned up his work space as his Captain, the boss of the entirely of S.T.A.R.S. made his way over.

Jill turned to hand Wesker the form. “Captain.”

“Trust in people is a gift that is not always needed,” He spoke, reaching for the pen that was but an inch from the edge of the desk.

His face did not change but he was likely unimpressed. More so if he also happened to see Chris’ performance.

Of course, he did. He’s Wesker. Nothing goes without his knowledge.

Chris bit the inside of his cheek.

“Manners, however, are never uncalled for,” he continued, making a note in the section Chris had been stuck on. “I apologise for listening in.”

“Not at all. Drinks tonight, sir?” She asked, fully expecting the answer.

“Another time,” Wesker nodded, handing the form back to Chris. “We can go over the report now, while I have a moment.”

Chris stood, following behind Wesker as he walked towards his office without another word.

He tensed as Wesker shut the door behind them, the presence behind him sending shivers up his spine.

“Don’t bite your cheek. Your expression is idiotic.”

“Charming,” Chris mumbled.

“Of course,” Wesker spoke as he returned to his desk.

“Nervous habit. It’s either that or pens.”

Wesker grimaced. Which made Chris smirk.

“Do I make you nervous, Redfield?”

Chris caught his breath. Even if he had not spent many of their squad meetings trying to work out Wesker’s accent, a fact he was still not hundred percent sure on. The deep rumble in his voice was hard to ignore.

As was the smirk Wesker was currently sporting. He was trying to provoke him.

 “I thought you didn’t like asking questions you have the answer to?”

Wesker chuckled.

Chris coughed into the back of the hand. Trying to ignore the anxiety bouncing around inside his ribcage. His standard issue green S.T.A.R.S. sweater kept the increasingly uncomfortable heat trapped.

He turned his attention to the form, as a mode of distraction; both for his sanity, and to stop further questions he might not be able to answer so easily. He frowned when he saw the note Wesker had left.

“Not applicable?”

“You covered the necessary information. Some forms will ask that you repeat your words in multiple sections. This one is not important. Only I would see it.”

“Oh. Right,” Chris paused. “Oh,” He handed the form back to Wesker, and proceed to give his verbal statement. Nothing too taxing.

Wesker nodded. “Good.”

“Thanks,” Chris stood there for a few second. “Hey, um. You should try going out sometime. Jill is a lot of fun. I can’t tonight, I’m working. Which you know, hm. But you should.”

Wesker raised a brow, a blond line of hair just visible over his sunglasses.

“I didn’t-“Mean it like that? Would that sound worse? “We work with an entertaining bunch.”

Wesker nodded. “I have work to attend to, but I shall consider it, for another time.”

Chris smiled. “Yeah. Ah- Captain,” he nodded.

“Redfield.”

Chirs quickly left.

Captain Albert Wesker. A subject Chris always found himself coming back to.

The man was statuesque. Tall but not even close to lanky, with his board shoulders, chest pressed forward with a military stance. His jaw, chin and nose all well-defined. His arms, the only other part of him visible aside from his face and neck. Were large, skin taut over every full muscle.

He only ever wore his uniform, the sleeves always rolled up, his top button undone; exposing a small part of his bare chest. Yet on a man so serious, the change seemed no less professional.

His hair was thick and gelled back, rarely falling from place. A vibrant gold in direct sunlight, while a darker shade of honey in the offices. This darker tone also ran down his exposed arms.

Chris smiled at the framed photo of teams Alpha and Bravo. Surrounded by snippets from newspapers of their work. Although only becoming formally recognised units of the Raccoon City police department earlier this year, the progress they were making was showing their worth.

Wesker was easy to pick out with his light hair, and most of all his sunglasses. A permanent fixture, and one of the very few things that were personalised in his work life. Aside from his longer hair. Maybe the ballpoint pens he tended to use? That was it.

No photos. No particular coffee cup. Not even his own version of short hand for taking note. Everything was standard issue.

He came in, always early. Worked his shift. With occasional squad meeting or training sessions.

Chris had never seen him go to the bathroom, let alone train in their private gym.

“Chris, it’s that time again,” Forest spoke, making his way over to the Alpha squad sharpshooter, abandoning his coffee cup on Joseph’s desk as he left.

Joseph constipated a few revenge schemes, but Forest was the prankster of S.T.A.R.S. and he would retaliate. And win.

Then again…

Joseph smirked.

“Yeah, yeah,” Chris said.

“And who’s in the lead?” Forest questioned himself.

“You.”

“Oh! That’s right.”

“Not for much longer,” Chris shrugged. “I’m feeling long distance, today.”

“Heavy recoil. No practice runs.”

“You’re both pretty,” Enrico cut in. “Now, hurry up before Wesker drags me into a meeting. I’d like to see my boy win. Wesker will hate it.”

“He hates?” Joseph whispered to Barry. “I was being to think our team was run by a manikin with a pair of shades.”

Barry swivelled his chair with a frown on his lips.

“Weekend at Bernies, sorta thing.”

Barry snorted.

 

* * *

 

 

Albert was nothing, if not a man who could stay in control. He held a mastery over his own being. And over many others, if the need arose.

The urge to yell was intense. To pick up his chair and throw it against the wall, breaking the glass windows, the furniture held in place by the plastic blinds. Next would go the desk, hooking the tip of his boot under it and shoving hard.

And maybe, just maybe, the very symbol of his hate would appear before him, so he could attack. Strike after strike, until his hands were beyond the point of pain, and his arms and chest where covered in a dark red, warmth.

Wesker would not snap. He could not mindlessly trash out. He had to play the part, the insignificant cog they believed him to be.

He had long since accepted his life as it was, never questioning, never wanting. He never went without, barely knew about the outside world, but those few glances were new, so beautiful. All the same, he would never wonder. Until it became clear, he was trapped.

A gilded cage he had become too relaxed to try to escape.

Wesker knew he was not the only one. He had seen many children, some younger, some older. That much he had always known. They would be set actions in place. He had to be smart to survive his betrayal. He had to act carefully.

Years of planning, Masquerading as a hidden agent; loyal to only Umbrella.

He at last had the resources.

It had taken but a simple call for his anger to play havoc on his mind. He had received and dealt with these calls effortlessly in the past, but there had been one blatant comment. Something they would not expect him to understand. Something he should not have been able to notice, had he not known what they did to him. Had he not suspected.

The main offices were closed for the night. Only security officers wondered the halls, whom Wesker had bid welcome to so they would not bother him.

The S.T.A.R.S. unit where not like the regular police force when it came to shift times, the hours between 10pm and 6am were not covered, unless there was a raised terror alert. Of which there was, at this moment. Leaving the only hours not covered between 1am and 4am.

Except for tonight, as vice-captain Marini was working with members of Bravo and Alpha in public relations. Working alongside the police force.

Wesker sat at his desk, one long leg folded over his knee, looking over his reports. Marking and adding notes like a teacher. If he was too riled to sleep, too worn to drive home, he might as well get ahead of his workload.

The sound of his pen scratching stopped as there was a knock at the door.

“Enter.”

“Hey, Captain.”

Albert almost groaned at the bright smile. Chris Redfield was both an annoyance, and an entertainment. Wesker was in no mood for either.

“You should have gone home hours ago,” Wesker spoke, noting the coffee cup in one hand, a thermal mug in the another.

He hated the coffee the offices were supplied with.

“Frost called in sick. So, Dewey and I split the shift,” Chris shut the door with his elbow. Before stepping up to the old pine desk.

And added it to their own. Yes. Wesker had gone over this not long after he came in.

“I appreciate your help.”

“I don’t mind,” He held out the cup. “Coffee?”

“Thank you,” Wesker took the cup, avoiding touching the other man’s fingers.

“I didn’t know you would be here this late,” Chris explained. “I saw the light on. But asked one of the guys, just in case, you know.”

“I see,” Wesker looked down to his coffee, surprised to find that it looked much lighter than he expected.

“Can I help?”

“I’m not behind on my work.”

“Bad meeting?”

Wesker glanced up.

“You looked a little stressed,” Chris signed. “Earlier. That is.”

Wesker ignored the comment, in favour of sipping him coffee. It was not thin and bitter like he expected. It was creamy, the flavour of flited coffee lessened but still strong, partly masked by something else.

“What is in this?”

“Oh, one of the officers showed me. Less water, and you can make an espresso. A shot of coffee. Then microwave some milk, and you have a homemade latte,” Chris rolled the mug between his palms. “Little flat, not the same as one from a café. I brought some vanilla syrup. Jill recommended it.”

Wesker took another sip.

“It’s nice.”

Chris grinned.

“Yes.”

“Sir?”

“To your previous question.”

“Okay. Where do you want me to start?”

Wesker looked back at the man for a few seconds. He huffed. He placed his cup down, before removing his glasses, dangling them between his fingers as he rubbed at his eyes with his palm.

“I meant the question before that,” Wesker spoke. “It has been a long day. I need to wake up.”

“Do you want a ride home?”

Wesker raised his head.

He watched with curiously as Chris swallowed. Wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue.

“Are you finished for the night?”

Chris nodded.

“Then, yes. That would be appreciated.”

Chris smiled. “Can do. Want me to chuck the coffee?”

Wesker shook his head. He took another sip.

“I’ll work on it as we go.”


End file.
